


After the Storm

by little0bird



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Episode: s04e15 Deception, F/M, Gen, Obitine, Post-Episode: s04e18 Crisis on Naboo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Missing scenes from the Deception arc of Clone Wars.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala & Satine Kryze
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	After the Storm

The receiver chimes and a glowing holographic image of Padmé appears. Satine sets the datapad aside with a smile. 'This is a pleasant surprise.'

Padmé's eyes are downcast. 'I'm afraid I don't bring pleasant news.' She steps aside and Anakin Skywalker's grim visage takes her place.

He inclines his head. 'My lady…'

Cold fear grips Satine with icy claws. 'What's happened…?'

'It's Obi-wan.' Anakin gulps and his face hardens. 'He's gone.' He can barely form the words. If he doesn’t say them, he can hold off the inevitable truth of loss. His lips and tongue seem to have gone numb. His mouth tightens. 'You should come to his funeral.' Anakin bows his head, chin nearly touching his chest. ‘He would want you there.'

Satine turns away from the receiver before the light fades and hikes her skirt to her knees, running to her bedroom. She plunges into her closet, snatching clothes from their hangers and throwing them into the small travelling case she keeps there. A lingering habit from her days with Qui-gon and Obi-wan. She slams the case shut and orders her guards to prepare a small shuttle to leave immediately.

She refuses a pilot, intending to fly the damn thing herself. For the distraction. Else she'd sit in her cabin and feel the growing chasm in her heart threatening to swallow her whole. Her breath catches in her throat when she puts her hands on the controls, a fleeting image of Obi-wan's hands over hers as he taught her to fly swimming from the recesses of her memory. She shoves it aside. _Not now._

It isn't until she's standing next to his shrouded body do the sobs rise in her throat. _This isn't real_ … She pinches her arm, just they way Obi-wan had taught her once. Hard enough to leave a bruise. _But it is…_ She presses her hand to her mouth to suppress the sobs, but it's no use. The sounds of her grief ricochet off the stone walls and floor.

One of the Jedi — she doesn't recall his name just now — pauses on his way out of the shrine. He waits until she meets his severe gaze. She swipes the back of her hand over her cheeks, smearing the tearstains over them. He studies her with an inscrutable look for a long moment, then a sympathetic expression briefly softens his stern features. He gives her a respectful nod, then leaves with the diminutive Master Yoda.

* * *

Ahsoka is a lot of things. Young. Empathetic. Headstrong. Confident. Immensely skilled. Ferocious. Intensely protective.

One thing she decidedly is not is stupid.

Her time on Mandalore with their academy students offered a few puzzle pieces about Obi-wan, a cipher wrapped in an enigma if there ever was one. Korkie Kryze felt… familiar, even though she'd never met him before. She expected him to feel like Satine in the Force. They were related, after all. It wasn't until she returned to Coruscant and debriefed Anakin and Obi-wan about her mission that she realized why. He also felt like…

Obi-wan.

A few of the puzzle pieces began to fit together. The hand on the chin gesture when pondering his next actions was eerily like Obi-wan's. He had Obi-wan's grave grey-blue eyes. The warmth behind Satine's request to give her regards to Master Kenobi. Anakin's not-so-subtle hints that Obi-wan and Satine had a romantic history.

She wondered if Obi-wan knew that Satine had given birth to his child.

Part of her believes he does. She's amazed he's kept it hidden from Master Windu and Master Yoda. But then again, Obi-wan's rather good at compartmentalizing, she's come to realize.

She waits patiently outside the infirmary in the palace of Naboo, sitting cross-legged in a windowsill, meditating. The last few weeks have been… turbulent, to say the least.

Obi-wan emerges, dressed as a Jedi once more, restored to his own appearance, minus his hair and beard. He inspects his reflection in a window with a resigned sigh, running a hand over his head. It bristles with ginger fuzz that will take some time to regrow. His beard will recover faster. He straightens his tabard and strikes off in the direction of the suites given to the coterie of Jedi that accompanied the Chancellor to Naboo. He can feel the tangle of betrayal, outrage, and disappointment that grip Anakin like a pulsing wound. True, he had his misgivings about keeping the nature of his assignment secret from Anakin, but ultimately deemed it necessary. He doesn't intend to ask for forgiveness, but issue a plea for understanding. It wasn't personal. It was in service of the mission.

'Master?' Ahsoka's voice echoes softly in the marble corridor. He turns and she squints at him, a rueful grin creasing her face. 'You certainly don't look like yourself.'

'Everything will be back to rights soon enough,' he replies with a wry grin, rubbing his head.

She starts to speak, but closes her mouth, unusually hesitant. 'Could I speak with you?'

Obi-wan frowns, taken aback by her uncharacteristic reticence. 'Of course.' He waves to an alcove, where two chairs face one another.

Ahsoka perches on the edge of one of the chairs, her hands resting on her knees. 'Permission to speak freely, Master?'

He crosses his arms over his chest. 'You've never withheld your opinions before, Ahsoka.'

She coughs and flushes, then folds her hands primly upon her knees. 'You might want to send word to Mandalore,' she remarks, learning forward and pinning him with a look. 'Before the Council makes a formal announcement of your miraculous resurrection …'

Obi-wan's mouth opens, then he closes it with a _snap._ She's right, of course. Like nearly everyone else, Satine believes him dead. His resurrection is going to sow more than a few seeds of distrust in the galaxy regarding the Jedi, something the Council anticipated. He peers at the Padawan with no little consternation. He wonders how much Anakin's told her. Satine told him Ahsoka worked closely with Korkie to uncover her corrupt prime minister. He wonders if she was observant enough to see him in Korkie. Of course she did. There's very little that escapes her notice. If she did, she's kept it to herself. 'Oh, I do?' He tries to keep a neutral expression on his face, but fails.

Ahsoka leans forward a bit. 'Did no one tell you about your funeral?'

'No. I asked, mostly in jest, but…'

'Duchess Satine was there.' Ahsoka's bright blue eyes pierce though him.

Obi-wan's brows knit and his heart drops to the toes of his boots. 'What?'

'After we brought your body back to the Temple, Anakin… He contacted her. He thought she should find out from… well… _someone_ instead of finding out on the HoloNet like the rest of the galaxy.' Ahsoka looks down at her hands. No one had questioned Satine's presence at Obi-wan's sham funeral, as though their feelings for one another were some sort of open family secret no one ever spoke of. Her quiet, heartrending sobs, although she made every effort to stifle them, echoed through the shrine. The devastation Satine felt rolled off her in waves so thick, Ahsoka thought she might be pulled in by its undertow. The duchess returned to Mandalore the next morning, and as far as Ahsoka knew, hadn't made a public appearance since.

Obi-wan leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on his interlaced fingers. 'I see.'

'Just thought you should know.' Ahsoka slides off the chair and leaves Obi-wan contemplating the trail of anguish left in the wake of a plan he never quite agreed with, yet went along with it all the same. What had it cost the Jedi? And himself? He can feel the small tears in the ties that bind him to Anakin, and fears they might be irreparable. Anakin has confirmation of Obi-wan's —the Council's, really — doubts about him, and a fissure has cracked his trust in Obi-wan. They might be able to repair it, to put it aside, but Obi-wan knows it will never be the same.

* * *

'M'lady… there's Jedi waiting for you.' The guard punches in the security code for her apartment. 'Said he needed to speak with you privately.' There's an air of disapproval hovering around his mouth. The guard is but a few years older than she is, and still clearly harbors suspicions about the Jedi.

The blood in her veins slowly turns to ice. What did the Order want from her? _Karabast, they found out about Korkie_ … Could they posthumously expel Ben from the Order? She didn't think so. The more logical part of her brain reminds her it's more likely they're merely returning her locket, if it was among Ben's personal effects. She enters the apartment, the tapping sound of the soles of her shoes echoing in the silent rooms. The aforementioned Jedi stands facing the aquarium, face shrouded in the depths of the raised hood. Only the the tip of the nose and chin are visible.

Satine pauses. She knows that chin. She kissed it a thousand times, felt its edge rest on her shoulder, grazed it with her fingertips. The breath leaves her body with a _whoosh_. She staggers toward him and reaches for the hood and pushes it back. Before she can stop herself, her hand flies through the air and lands on his cheek with a resounding _crack_. The stinging of her palm assures her this isn't a dream after all.

Ben briefly rubs his face, working his jaw from side to side. He refrains from snidely bringing up her pacifist ideals. Although given the snarl of emotions swirling around her, he can't blame her.

'You died!' she shrieks. 'I went to your funeral. I _mourned_ you!'

He flinches as her voice lashes at him with each phrase. 'I'm sorry,' he says lamely.

Satine's face drains of all color, save for two blotches of color on her cheeks. She reaches down and yanks off one shoe, then the other. She grips them in her hands, wondering if he'd just wave them away if she threw them at his head, then spins on her heel and hurls them across the room, one by one. They bounce off the wall and clatter to the floor. She collapses to the edge of a sofa and stares at him, shaking with nascent rage.

Obi-wan peers at her, then slips his robes from his shoulders, and drapes it over the back of a chair. 'What are you doing?' she asks warily. He methodically removes his lightsaber, belt, tabard, overtunic, and undertunic. He pulls off his boots and socks. What little color that remains in her face fades as comprehension dawns. He wears no armor, but in the manner of a penitent, he's stripped away the layers of protection so he might approach, no better than the lowest among them. 'Obi-wan… stop.' He picks up his lightsaber and closes the distance between them, the shaft balanced on his outstretched hands. The penitent offers their weapon to make themselves even more vulnerable. Satine stills, but vibrates with so much energy, she reminds Obi-wan of a bird poised to take flight. He offers the lightsaber to her as if she hasn't spoken. Satine bites her lip. She could refuse the gesture, reject his act of contrition. But she knows he's as well-versed in Mandalorian culture as an off-worlder can be. To do this goes beyond begging for forgiveness. It forces a Mandalorian to swallow their pride, when it's all they have left. She reaches out and takes the lightsaber, placing it across her knees.

Obi-wan nods. Once. Then lowers himself to his knees directly in front of her. ' _Ni ceta_.' His voice is a quiet murmur, but his eyes brim with regret and sorrow.

He swallows hard, and places his hands beside him and bends forward until his forehead touches the floor, leaving the back of his neck exposed. ' _Ni ceta_.'

He exhales slowly, then one foot followed by the the other slide from beneath his body, and he prostrates himself, arms outstretched. He is defenseless. Helpless. ' _Ni ceta_.'

Satine sets the lightsaber aside and slides off the sofa. She touches his bare shoulder. ' _Ni vorer ibic.'_ Obi-wan shudders and pushes himself upright. 'Was it worth it?' She's not asking about the apology.

He scrubs both hands over his head and face. For a brief moment, he thought he'd seen a calculating look come over Palpatine's face as he glanced between Anakin and Dooku as they duelled. It left Obi-wan with a feeling of uneasiness he hasn't been able to shake. 'I'm not sure.'

**Author's Note:**

> Ni ceta: literally "I kneel", but means "I'm sorry." A grovelling apology. 
> 
> Ni vorer ibic: I accept this.


End file.
